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4.9.17

At
home, 65 centimeters exist between my eyes and the surface in front of me when
I stand to pee. In most public washrooms, urinals are attached to a blank,
boringly surfaced wall. That wall is typically
spaced about 35 cm away. Sometimes there is a framed picture, many times
an ad, hung up to attract us, the pee-standing population. If there is some
depth in the image, a slight sense of relief accompanies the process of
relieving my bladder. In rare occasions there is a ledge at chest height that
adds a welcome sense of space. In even rarer installations, there is a small
window.

I've
been enjoying the freedom of pee-standing forever, really. However, at times I
simply get tired of the small accidents or even the occasional harmless
splatter. As clean as I have always been, the stray drops that escape me
accumulate in hidden gaps and get on my nerves. For a few years I managed to
stick to pee-sitting. A seemingly small sacrifice for the sake of bathroom
wellbeing. But temptations are not restricted to erotic avenues. One of my
fantasies is to install a urinal at home.

However,
the one I really
want is just way too expensive, at least for the time being. So I stick my
stick through the zipper and enjoy my musings in front of the blinded window in
our humble bathroom. This morning for instance, I was wondering about the
pattern of light that formed on one of the slats facing me. Light waves
generate intriguing projections thanks to a variety of phenomena. When I
thought of taking a picture of the light pattern, it occurred to me that until
I set up the tripod and attach my camera on to it, the sun will move and the
pattern might vanish with it. Still, which of the four cell-phones at our
disposal would be best for the task? Why not try all? So yes. By the time I got
to the fourth device, the projection changed.

1.5.16

The infinitely complex undertaking that threadless is taking - to provide a platform of engagement for a massive audience - fascinates me. They started with attracting people through competitions and now we have the Artist Shop to try out.

Yes, this is Hebrew

Stumbling upon a t-shirt prints shop in Tel Aviv, in the later years of the twentieth century started my journey of turning threads of inspiration into wearables. The English version of the one on the left is shown at the top, the image in the center comes from a book by Halbritter; the shirt on the right is my expression of frustration over the introduction of caps to Tetra Pak cartons ("Return the cap to the bottle!").At the time when printed t-shirts became a prominent item in the American culture, I was a bit dismissive of people making billboards of themselves. Then, in the early nineteen nineties my brother's designs for transfer technology exposed me to the broader side of this engagement. After moving to Canada in 2002 I walked into a place that made prints on t-shirts. I was appalled to realize how expensive making one would be, maybe three times the amount it cost me in Israel. However, the idea of finding ways and venues to continue my habit of turning ideas into objects stayed.

Not available on threadless as a t-shirt anymore

Then, in 2010 my sister sent me an orange shirt with a lovely design of a fox. This was the first time I became aware of the company named threadless. Still, the price seemed appalling to me. But why worry, here is a venue where my ideas can join a stream of like-minded people, and possibly even be purchased around the world. My first submission was kindly rejected, making me feel like, why bother…

My first submission on threadless

OK, I appreciate the way things are handled here. The concept of putting your stuff out and gathering feedback, directly and indirectly, is at the core of the design process. Moving ideas from concept to reality on the threadless platform is fun and friendly. The Artist Shop is a welcome addition to the package. I'm happy to have been able to witness its initial stages of development. It's exciting to follow a process like this (the development of an interactive, functional mechanism) and also participate in its making. Occasionally I send feedback to the threadless team. They are open to ideas and have even implemented successfully some of mine.

Some of my submissions this year, 2016

Sharing insights with unknown people for unguaranteed prospects is not easy for me. Every day requires a set of choices to be made: "Do I post a design? Should I send this feedback or keep it to myself? Is this going to be a t-shirt or a tote bag? How much more garbage does the world need?" An intangible sense of worth is constantly challenged. I solve this by trusting myself, trusting my own intentions. Whatever inspires me I try my best to keep alive and kicking.

11.1.16

In
fact, maybe we are, after a phase of adjustment, situated in a new reality.
Packs of commuters, pedestrians and community at large are holding a device of
some sort in their hand. With it one speaks, another is messaging; one device
is used to read books and on the other, articles are composed.

Like
many innovations that capture our initial reservations, the electronic
communications device too, in its many incarnations, attracts a variety of
calls of dismissal and reproach. Whether I am among the users of the most
cutting edge device or one of the many onlookers, our inclination to mock a new
phenomenon feels natural. However, without much delay I become one of the many
first users of a technology. I might still have a tinge of unease by succumbing
to the trend but embrace the wonders of the novelty or even its limits.

Once
more I am on the bus, thinking of the typical grievances that used to be or
still are directed towards "the addicted" to technology. As time
passes by, those who spend their time device-less look increasingly idle, like
bums: "like, don't they have anything more important to do than just sit
there, without doing anything? Ha! Riding a bus!"

10.1.16

Following the purchase of a new tablet that enables the use of and writing with a stylus, I woke up at four in the morning and decided to play with it a bit. The screenshot below provides a preliminary summary of the experience.

Now, when I tried to switch to the keyboard, I realized that
I can attach the physical one to the
device. This is a translation from my piece in Hebrew. I still can't type in
Hebrew conveniently on the attached keyboard. So here is another stupidity that
I'd be happy to share with someone else: Anat is still asleep and has already
expressed her appreciation in the occasions when I've waited till the morning
to talk with her; Sharon is in a different place, a different situation and if
there is anything relevant to share with her, whatever it was that I had
interest in sharing - is something else.

My initial understanding, the one that takes me back to my
early life insight, is that the person most relevant to share my three O'clock
in the morning swirling outbursts of musings, is me. Later it trickles its way
to my communications with others. Occasionally it happens on the same day and
the rest of it reaches other people some other time. Even the thought that this
new device is responsible for my current joy is gently pushed aside by another
one. It reminds me that in the past there have been enough occasions where I
have encouraged myself to action this way or the other.

In short, I am very satisfied by the purchase of this new
device, I am very satisfied with completing the mosaic I am making with Bruce,
I continue to look at my employment at Paul Sangha's in a positive anticipation
of our next move. And this is just the start.

28.12.15

In
2009, my parents visited us here in Vancouver. Somewhat unexpectedly I realized
an issue that had bothered Yohanan, my dad, for years. In one of our morning
walks he mentioned the advantage we’d had over him. Being Israeli born to
immigrant parents, he always felt that his exposure to language was compromised.
He expressed awareness to the fact that we, his children, grew up in a Hebrew
speaking household. That confession provoked layers of thought in me. I could
sense the frustration in him, the envy as well as appreciation and respect. We
are sometimes blind to the complex reality we live in until the person with us
shares their own. My drive to improve and distil my own process of expression
and writing is already established. However, my skills are deemed futile without
an audience.

As I
am writing these words, the irony in my dad’s state of mind has not escaped me.
I have never considered his level of expression as missing much. But our chat in
which he managed to express his awareness to that perceived fault, keeps me
alert in my encounters with other people. From those I appreciate the level of
expression as superior to mine I try to learn. With the ones whose level might
be lower I try to be careful, on the one hand with patience and on the other -
support; being patient in listening and supportive of the effort to
try.

This
memory came back to me as the thirty days from my dad's passing away (on 21 November 2015) approached.
I was just about to complete a piece of commentary following a few days of
commuting on bus to work. The link between the opening above and my commentary
seems natural to me if not immediately obvious.

Bus Ride Reading
(Ignorance is bliss)

What
do we occupy ourselves with? I am reading a book, named ‘Non-required Reading’
(initially introduced to me in Hebrew as ‘Optional Reading’). One day I might
remember its author’s name and manage to pronounce it. The question above rolls
in my head as I am reading and beyond. I wonder what it is that attracts me to
it and what turns me off.

Later
I read snippets of information about Wislawa Szymborska. This quick
exploration throws me back to the first ‘Campers’ I have
purchased.

In
the streets of Milan, 1999, I passed by a window where a pair of shoes made me
stop. It was as if I found something I had been looking for my whole life. They
were beautiful in an almost unnoticeable way. And yet they were waiting for me.
When I tried them on, their comfort was only surprising in light of past
experiences, where what looks comfortable turns out to be less so or even not at
all.

Szymborska’s writing, translated into English, feels familiar
yet still foreign. Maybe because of the translation, maybe due to its syntax.
She “sounds” a bit like a new comer from Russia who’s already been away from
homeland for many years. The language is fluent and flawless with a screech here
and there in its music. When I speak English, occasionally my vocabulary fails
me. I invent expressions that explain my ideas in combinations that are new to
my listeners. From the reader’s point of view, my impression of Szymborska’s
language is probably similar to that of my audience, in the place where I am.
From where I am, I re-connect with Wislawa.

When I returned from Italy to Israel with
my new Campers, I realized that they had been a hot Spanish brand in the
European fashion world including that of Israel. I was wondering how I would
have treated the shoes had I known about that in advance. Not that I am worried
about being dressed in a brand name. I am simply averse to buying a brand name
just because of it. Oded, my friend who introduced ‘optional reading’ to me,
read one of the book’s pieces in Hebrew. He had spared me the irrelevant
knowledge of Scymborska’s being a Nobel prize for literature winner. Still, when
I considered buying the book I asked myself whether I was buying it just because
of my meeting with Oded or thanks truly to the strength of the book’s
text.

Wislawa, who died at 89 in 2012, was a well known Polish poet. She was asked once how come she hadn’t published more poems. Her
response draws me back to her “non-required” essays: “My room already has a
recycling bin.”

25.11.15

On my recent visit to Israel I had the honor of escorting my dad through some of his last days in life. I’d shared my thoughts and insights with my family, as part of our daily updates. The first one below was written early one morning following a few days of traveling and social encounters. About a week after my return to Canada my dad embraced the hold of death and passed away seven days later, Saturday, November 21 2015. My eulogy below was written in response to our last conversation.

I am grateful to have family and friends supporting us in this process of growth.
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Each of us carries an invisible load of baggage. This includes what I think of the other and what I think people think of me. My conversation with Gali, my niece, raises the notion that some issues might not require discussion. Tamar, my sister in-law, knows in advance what would offend her. We face a daily effort of dismantling this baggage of landmines and firebombs.

In one early moment of the Sterns’ visit to Vancouver last year, I waived a threatening finger in front of Yohanan. His response made me wonder what exactly happened there. My parents’ stay with us, transformed into a realization, that we can all enjoy it. With my raised finger I’ve exclaimed “If you don’t trust my good intentions and Yardena’s good intentions, we have no communication.” Yohanan jumped from his spot at the other side of the table. He then charged into the bedroom. A few seconds later we could hear him screaming at the tenant in Israel to pay his rent.

I am fascinated by our use of the comic in relating to life. Laughter relieves our breath and introduces a healthy dose of oxygen to our brain. In embarrassment and hardships it seems like laughter gives me a break. Instead of sliding into depression, laughter allows me to remove the tough issue from its threatening context. It doesn't always succeed. But a small story from my acquaintance with Gerstman, one of Yeheskely Clothing's suppliers, keeps inspiring me to employ laughter and insist on it.

Yoav, the designer I used to work with, was Gerstman's tenant for a few years. He's told me that they'd always had pleasant conversations. Some of them even included stories from the landlord's past as a Holocaust survivor. The man, bearing a smile on his face, was always happy to share amusing anecdotes. In one of Yoav's encounters with Gerstman the gentleman had confided: "So, in the concentration camps have I stopped laughing? Of course I had laughed." This was enough for me.

Yohanan Stern has been collecting clown figurines for years in a variety of forms: paintings, dolls and other creations. Some of them are sad, some are smiling. They all, in my view celebrate the light hearted side of our personality; the part that helps a healthy perspective of life. The sad clown might be mumbling "What's the point in being pessimistic; life's hard enough." The happy one is saying "Every situation entails a glimmer of bliss; the joy of life stems from that." You can notice the two clowns manifested in my dad. Occasionally I cringe embarrassedly from his fooling around. In the rest of time I tell myself that I am the same.

So where is Yardena in all of this? Let's not talk about Yardena. Taking care of Yohanan is currently top priority. She chunks a couple of pain killers in the morning and the day is settled. Never mind that their influence is receding. Just make sure they are Extra Strength. My effort in finding out how I might be the same gives me a headache. There you are, I made it! Now I can relax. We agreed that with all the difficulties we have a history and present of cooperation. In all of us, the good intentions overcome our frustrations. True, I know how to be turned off by Yohanan. And the point is that I am the one who is turned off. The other side in the story is not guilty of my being turned off but, alas, he is part of it.

So here is an idea for a scientific research in sociology: our life is built upon reducing our amount of turn off from people, especially those closest to us. Once I have already told mom that my success in life results "thanks to you as well as in spite of you." And then, doesn't Meni turn me off? Sharon? Erez? Ah,… Erez doesn't turn me off. And Yardena understands immediately. At the same time she is dead wrong. Erez doesn't turn me off because we hardly speak to each other. Yardena counts the ‘hardly’. YarOn counts the ‘speak’. Sharon comforts us in saying "that's OK." And Meni? He stopped reading in the first paragraph. And that too is OK.

This update has no immediate concrete implications. It is an intermediate summary in my line of impressions from what's up in the family. I am trying to bring to light some thoughts in hope that they allow a small window into space and a breath of fresh air. In the tough and serious situation we are all experiencing, the suffocating feeling of hopelessness might sabotage the delightful effort we are all involved in. My aspiration is that these words manage to amuse the moment a bit, until the next day.
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Yohanan,

Indeed we ate the last of the humus on your last day. Like some kind of a Hanukah miracle where you were the sacrifice. And we will continue to make humus and bake pitot (pita bread) and think of Nablus Gate, the falafel that we had to bring from the adjacent stall and the coffee that the guy poured from the boil. Much of what I could know about you came to me indirectly. Like a side observation. Something I had said off hand turned out months later to be significant to you.

Your lust for life has always entailed a measure of frightened, somewhat childish concern. As my ability to express my impression in words improved, your desire to give and nurture overcame any insult. I am grateful for the opportunity to learn something out of this. Looking from within, our life feels almost boring. Why even my effort to extract family stories for your fiftieth anniversary confronted a variety of objections from its members.

But life goes on and the memory will play its part. Much of what I will hear about you will fill the void. “I am the strongest dad in the world,” I told the impressed boy one day. At the same breath I continued “and my dad is even stronger.” Every joke has a component of truth in it. I am grateful for the opportunity to continue the joke.

About Me

Welcome. Moving back to Tel Aviv after a few years living in villages made me realize how much Home city life is for me.

The balance between small scale human life and large scale social development is important wherever we live. In order to preserve this balance - sensitivity, creative thinking and realistic planning are required.

This observation leads me in my engagement with projects where design and execution are involved.